


Contracts and Obligations

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [19]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, Intrigue, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nightmares, Nipple Play, Painplay, Phaser Play, Power Play, Sexual Roleplay, Topping, Unplanned Pregnancy, stress positions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 03:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16547561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: A fatal diagnosis from a Ferengi doctor forces Quark to look to settling his affairs, and a near fatal accident on a runabout means a sudden change of address for Miles and Keiko O'Brien's unborn son. A visit from the ruthless Ferengi Liquidator Brunt drives Quark to a desperate and dangerous arrangement with Garak, who realizes perhaps his days as an assassin are not as behind him as he believed.





	Contracts and Obligations

**Part I**

_Garak  
Holosuite One  
Cardassian Sauna Program_  
   
Garak sighed with contentment as he basked naked on the rock beneath the heat source. It was very kind of Ziyal to loan him the program for his own personal use. Steam rose from the hidden water source beneath the central structure and bathed his parched sinuses with blessed moisture.  _How ironic,_  he thought,  _that I should have to resort to holosuite use to garner a little privacy._  That was the problem with overfilling a social calendar. Friends would decide that they had the right to impose at inconvenient times, and he would feel the tug of obligation to accommodate the impositions.  
   
Not here. Thanks to Quark's scrupulous adherence to his holosuite policies, no one would disturb Garak while he indulged in his paid sabbatical from others' grief, neediness, and curiosity. He heard nothing but the soft hiss of the steam, the measured rhythm of his own breaths, and the unmistakable warning blip of a holosuite door opening. His eyes flew wide, his clothing folded neatly across the chamber from him. “Computer, towel!” he barked, rolling off the rock and whisking the newly materialized swath of terrycloth around his waist without a moment to spare.  
   
“Garak!” Rom said, hurrying toward him from the cavern entrance. “Oh, Garak, it's horrible!”  
   
_It had better be,_  Garak thought grimly,  _or I'm going to wring your neck._  “What is it? What has happened?” he asked.  
   
“It's Brother,” Rom said, tears in his eyes. “He's dying!”  
   
“Right this instant?” he did his best to muster a sympathetic face on his friend's behalf. “Shouldn't you be at his side?”  
   
“No, not right this instant.” Rom sank to a seat on one of the rocks, his hands hanging limp between his knees and head downcast. “In a few days. He has Dorek Syndrome.”  
   
Garak eased toward his clothing, talking all the way. “I've never heard of it,” he admitted.  
   
“I'm not surprised. It's very rare. Only one in five million Ferengi ever exhibit symptoms.”  
   
“I see,” Garak said, reaching to his thin undershirt, shaking it out, and pulling it over his head. He wondered what Rom expected him to do besides offer a sympathetic ear, something he wasn't much in a mood for after the drama of the past month or so. “Rom, I hope you don't take this the wrong way...” He turned his back to the man so that he could pull on his pants without flashing him, “but I'm not sure what I can do to help you. You have my sympathy, of course, but...”  
   
“I'm glad you asked,” the Ferengi said, standing and turning to face him. “There is something you can do.”  
   
“Oh?” Garak asked carefully. He turned to face him again while fastening his tunic.  
   
Rom nodded earnestly. “You can bid on a piece of Brother.”  
   
“Bid on...” it clicked before he could finish his question.  _Of course, that revolting custom of theirs of desiccating and chopping up the body to be sold in little dishes._  He suppressed a shudder. “No,” he said, straightening himself and squaring his shoulders.  
   
“No? Garak, as a friend...”  
   
“As  _your_  friend, I can assure you that if you die before I do, I'll...find it within myself to buy a piece of you,” he said, unsure of whether he was speaking the truth in that moment or not. “Not your brother. I find the way he has treated you, Nog, and Leeta utterly unconscionable. He is rude, domineering, and more mercenary than an Orion slave trader. The thought of having him around me for the rest of my life, even in desiccated disk form, is just too repugnant to contemplate.”  
   
Rom blinked back more tears. “You'd bid on me?” he asked.  
   
He gave him one of his blandest smiles. “Let us both hope that never becomes an issue,” he said. “Honestly, you should go spend time with him. As things stand, you'll have me to...”  _pester,_  “speak to for far longer. Is there anything else at the moment?”  
   
The Ferengi nodded, turning from burnt sienna to deep ochre. “It's very hot in here,” he said then promptly collapsed.  
   
_Julian  
USS Volga  
Gamma Quadrant_  
   
Keiko sat well back in her seat, her eyes closed and a hand over the slight swell of her pregnant belly. A thin sheen of sweat slicked her features. Julian watched her with a concerned look and glanced back at Kira in the pilot seat. “I'm fine,” Keiko said, sounding anything but that. “Stop looking at me like that, Julian.”  
   
“I'm not looking at you like anything,” he said lightly.  
   
“I can feel it,” she said. “You and Major Kira both. Like I told you before, I'm just feeling nauseated. It comes with the territory.”  
   
“Can't you give her something?” Kira asked, frowning.  
   
“I've given her as much of the anti-emetic as I dare,” he answered. “Maybe you'd like some more ginger tea?” He turned his attention back to Keiko.  
   
She opened her eyes and fixed him with a very unamused dark glare. “I'm swimming in tea already. Getting up and down to use the facilities is counteracting any benefit I'm getting from the ginger. Both of you are worse than Miles. Would you please just stop worrying about me? You're making me feel guilty for coming along.”  
   
“Sorry,” Kira said, turning back to face the view port and making a small course correction.  
   
“I'd feel guilty if I wasn't tending to your comfort and safety,” Julian said with a small smile. “Like it or not, I am your doctor.”  
   
“More like my pain in the...”  
   
“Hey,” Kira said, swiveling her chair to address both of them, “I'm getting an anomalous bio-signature from the asteroid field we passed on our way to Torad Five.”  
   
Keiko gave her a subdued hopeful look. “Really? It might be worth checking out. Life forms on asteroids are very rare.”  
   
Julian cut in. “It could be nothing more than a bit of particulate matter. It's not necessarily a life form.”  
   
Kira nodded. “True, but it shouldn't put a huge strain on our deflector array to take a look. I'd need your help, Doctor.”  
   
“Sounds like a plan, then,” he said, moving away from Keiko and taking a seat in the co-pilot chair.  
   
“All right,” Kira said, glancing at Julian. “I'm thinking the safest way will be to handle this manually. Asteroids can shift faster than the auto-pilot can react. It's not a dense field. It doesn't mean there won't be some concentrated pockets worse than others. Just keep your eyes on the sensors, and if you don't hear a proximity alert but see something coming our way, tell me.”  
   
Julian nodded and focused his attention on the panel before him. As tempting as it was to look up to the view port, he knew better. It wasn't the debris directly in front of them they needed to worry about. For the first fifteen minutes, he didn't feel too concerned. They were navigating the field with relative ease. Kira was relaxed at the controls, projecting an air of quiet competence.  
   
“Uh oh,” she said, suddenly sitting up straighter and leaning slightly forward over her control console. “You see that?” she asked, pointing at the flat screen between them. “There's some sort of eddy, and I'm not seeing any clear route around it to get to our target. Let's hope the shields do their job. It's probably about to get a little bumpy.”  
   
“Understood,” he said. “Adjusting proximity sensors to maximum sensitivity.”  
   
Several times the proximity warning clanged. Each time Julian saw that they narrowly avoided a collision thanks to the quick reflexes of the major. He knew better than to disrupt her concentration by speaking. He felt a few light shudders from the craft, impacts to the shields from space debris not large enough to worry about avoiding. “We're almost there,” Kira said with cautious optimism.  
   
“Major!” Julian snapped suddenly. “Hard to port! Hard to...” His words were cut off by a jarring impact that threw him from his seat. Light and heat flooded the compartment, almost simultaneous with a deafening boom that left his ears ringing. Blinking back retinal phantoms, he saw Kira still doggedly at the controls. The hiss of the fire suppression system filled the air with its white, choking chemical.  
   
“We're out of the field,” Kira said, “but we've sustained heavy damage. We've lost a fuel pod. The deflector array is completely down, and the nav array is sluggish.”  
   
He hardly heard her, his vision clearing enough to show him Keiko all the way across the runabout from where she had been seated, blood streaming from her head, soaking her hair, and beginning to pool beneath her. “We've got bigger problems than that,” he said, scrambling forward on all fours. “Help me get her to the back. Hurry!”  
   
Kira ran over to him, her dark eyes huge. “Her head,” she said.  
   
“I know!” he snapped. “Hold it as steady as you possibly can while I lift her. Do not let that neck move!”  
   
They got her settled on the single biobed in the back. Julian watched the data from the vitals scan. “Oh, no,” he said. “No, no, no...this is not going to happen. Major, bring me hypospray vials of phenylephrine and metaraminol.”  
   
He heard Kira clattering in the medicine locker while he used a basic cauterizer to staunch the blood loss from Keiko's head wound. He quickly fitted her with a neural caliper to prevent her from awakening and exacerbating her internal injuries and a breathing tube to help her collapsed lung. Kira pressed both vials into his hands. He methodically docked first one and then the other to the hypospray and administered each. With the aid of the biobed systems, Keiko started to stabilize. “I'm going to need to operate right now to remove that rib from her...” He blinked at the secondary monitor. “The baby,” he said.  
   
“What?” Kira asked tightly. “Julian! What about the baby?”  
   
“He's rejecting the metaraminol that's preventing Keiko from succumbing to shock. His autonomic functions are failing.”  
   
“Can you deliver him?” Kira asked, her face creasing deeply with dismay.  
   
“No. He's not viable. He won't be for at least another two months. If I had full access to a surgical center, maybe.” He stared at Kira, a sudden thought coming to him. “Actually, there might be something I can do. You need to decide right now. Will you be willing to carry this baby?”  
   
“Is that even possible?” she asked, her mouth dropping open.  
   
“He's dying! Yes, or no?” he demanded, no time for pleasantries or explanations.  
   
“Y—yes,” she said, nodding. “What do you need me to do?”  
   
_Garak  
Replimat Café_  
   
To all appearances, Garak was simply sitting at his favorite table enjoying an afternoon mug of red leaf tea and a half serving of spice pudding. No one needed to know how closely he watched the infirmary, one finger occasionally tapping the side of his mug in idle rhythm. He wiped his mouth after each fastidious bite of his snack. He had seen Chief O'Brien dashing by his shop less than an hour before with such a look of horror that he could only assume that Julian's survey party had returned and that it had not ended well.  
   
Captain Sisko came into view, walking like a man with a purpose. The tailor watched him enter the infirmary. Shifting himself to greater comfort, he lifted his mug and took a sip. A few minutes after Captain Sisko, he saw Ziyal on the same heading, frowning with worry. She paused when she saw him across the Promenade from her, glanced once at the infirmary doors and hurried in his direction. “Nerys just contacted me,” she said without preamble. “There was an accident on the way back from the survey. They're all OK. Mrs. O'Brien is in surgery. Nerys said she had something to tell me in person. She sounded a little strange. I figured you'd want to know that Doctor Bashir is all right. They probably didn't tell you anything, did they?”  
   
His own little spy. He felt a small twinge of guilt for how readily she informed him of anything he wished to know. He wasn't above using her to bypass more difficult channels. He wondered if she knew it and didn't care. “No,” he said, inclining his head in gratitude. “To be fair, I haven't asked. Go on and see the major. I'm fine, just enjoying a little afternoon tea.”  
   
She shot him a look older than her years and smirked slightly. “You like your red leaf cold, do you?”  
   
He had to admire her observational skills. They doubtless served her in her art, which he had yet to see. “It's refreshing,” he said without missing a beat.  
   
She shook her head in mock exasperation and hurried away from him in the half skip-trot he thought took years from her when she did it. Now that he had the answers he sought, there was no further need to linger at his table drinking unpleasantly cold tea. He cleaned up after himself and returned to his shop to finish his work day.  
   
_Private Quarters_  
   
Once home for the evening, the tailor busied himself with puttering, straightening this, putting away that, knowing fully well that he wouldn't settle until Julian came to him and he could see for himself what toll this newest crisis took on the man. Although he didn't believe in luck, he was half tempted to say that the doctor's share of it had been exceedingly bad lately, one thing after another hammering at him from every direction, professional and personal. He couldn't blame Leeta for her last reaction to the doctor's personal lapse, yet her final loss of patience couldn't have come at a worse time.  _Is there ever really a good time for leaving someone?_  he wondered. He supposed not. As he had been asked by both of them, he hadn't breathed a word of the split to anyone. He couldn't understand why they felt it was important to hold up some hollow facade when their business was their own. It wasn't his to question.  
   
His stomach growled. “I'll have none of that from you,” he informed it aloud. He decided he would wait a reasonable time for Julian before supper. Eating together always seemed to calm the man and was Garak's best gauge for his true mood. He settled himself with a trade magazine PADD and allowed himself a couple of hours of distraction. He forced himself to wait a few beats before responding to the door chime he had hoped to hear. “Enter,” he said pleasantly.  
   
Julian crossed his threshold with dragging steps. The stench of melted plastics, smoke, and fire suppressant reached Garak's nose a moment later. He set his PADD aside and stood, crossing quickly to the doctor and settling a firm hand to his shoulder. “To the shower with you,” he said, brooking no argument. “Stick that uniform in one of the containment bags from my closet, and be sure you seal it properly this time, please.”  
   
The doctor snorted softly. “Good to see you, too.”  
   
“That goes without saying,” Garak said, stopping at his bedroom door now that he was sure Julian had no intention of being contrary. “Dinner, heavy, medium, or light?”  
   
“Heavy,” the man answered from the depths of his closet. He emerged with one of the clear bags Garak mentioned and began to strip from his uniform. “I feel like I could eat an entire rack of targ ribs with a whole brisket on the side.” He shoved the clothing into the bag without much concern for wrinkling. “That was hyperbole, by the way,” he added, smiling humorously, “but only slightly.”  
   
Garak inclined his head and turned away before he could see his smile. It had been a long time since he had seen Julian with such an appetite. Whatever had happened on that runabout couldn't have been awful if he was so willing to eat despite obvious exhaustion. He went about the task of replicating the meal with quiet enthusiasm that was tarnished somewhat by the tiny size of his own portion in comparison. He touched his belt lightly to remind himself of why he was being so modest in his consumption. One more notch, and he'd either have to buy a new belt or pierce and trim it. The satisfaction of that was well worth the deprivation.  
   
Julian emerged a bit later from the bedroom dressed in pajamas and looking refreshed, though still tired. He sat at the table across from Garak and began to eat with such speed that the tailor worried he might choke himself on the food. Garak measured his own pace, content to let the man nourish himself before attempting to ply him with questions.  
   
“It was amazing,” Julian said without prompting. “I still can't believe it worked given the primitive facilities on the runabout.”  
   
Garak set his fork aside. “Please tell me this isn't to be one of those dreadful conversations where you talk all around your classified information, leaving me nothing but meaningless tidbits to react to and feign interest in for the sake of being polite?”  
   
“You feign interest?” the doctor asked, pretending outrage with a hand to his chest. “I'm hurt!” A moment later, he gave a closed lipped wry smile, his dark eyes shining. “No. This won't be one of those conversations. I had to transfer Keiko's baby to Kira.”  
   
“Come again?” Garak frowned.  
   
“You heard right,” he said, nodding enthusiastically. “Major Kira is now carrying the O'Briens' son. She's going to have to carry him to term, I'm afraid. It was that or lose him altogether. I've never felt more nervous than when I asked her if she'd be willing. There wasn't time for me to be persuasive or for her to think about it. Say what you like about Nerys. She has an amazing capacity for being selfless.” His ebullience faded slightly. “So many Bajorans do.”  
   
“I'm happy you were able to save him,” Garak said, ignoring the indirect reference to Leeta, “and his mother.”  
   
“You're only saying that for my sake,” Julian said, eying him with a touch of skepticism.  
   
“Do my motives matter so very much?” the tailor asked archly.  
   
“No, I suppose not,” he conceded. He took several more bites and continued. “It was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen. I had to prep Kira first, inject her with hormones and drugs so that her body wouldn't reject the fetus, and then I had to do a direct injection into the amniotic fluid for the baby, so that he would be ready for his new blood supply. I beamed him over. I was sweating bullets, because transporter technology isn't one of my specialties. If I was just slightly off on the coordinates, I could have killed the baby and the major both. Thank god Kira is young and healthy. For that matter, I'm so glad she wasn't one of Crell Moset's victims.”  
   
“You know of Doctor Moset?” Garak asked, surprised.  
   
Julian nodded tightly. “There are hundreds of men and women on Bajor who are permanently infertile thanks to some of his...experiments.”  
   
“And thousands still alive thanks to his cure of the Fostossa virus,” he retorted a bit icily.  
   
“I'd rather not have a fight about this,” Julian said. “I've had a very trying day that I'm lucky ended well. I would never have forgiven myself if I had lost Miles his wife or his son out there. I've lost enough patients to last me a lifetime in the past month.”  
   
Garak nodded once. He was willing to set it aside for now. He had every intention of revisiting the topic at a later time. Moset was one of the most well respected and learned exobiologists on all of Cardassia. Garak had met him once long ago and found his to be a fine, sharp mind. “You were saying?” he prompted, keeping his thoughts to himself.  
   
“I was saying...oh, yes. Watching the imaging after the transfer. The vascularization process began almost immediately. Kira's body readily accepted the fetus. The placenta connected perfectly. I'm sure she'll be sore for a few days. Her uterus stretched nearly instantaneously with the transport, but there were no complications. It's not the first time a Bajoran has acted as a surrogate for a human fetus, or I wouldn't have known it was possible. It's still a rare occurrence.”  
   
“And you brought it about,” he said in a slightly taunting way.  
   
“Don't start,” Julian said with a sigh. “As hard as it is to believe, I'm not telling you all of this to tout my own prowess in my field. That's...the old Julian.” A shadow passed behind his eyes. “I'm fully aware of my own limitations and how much pure, dumb luck plays a part in incidents like this. Had I still been seated where I was before we entered the asteroid field, I would have taken as much of the damage as Keiko did. Had she struck her head any harder, I may not have had time to save the baby, and had Kira refused to carry him, I couldn't have forced the issue.”  
   
He had changed, Garak realized, and part of him was sad to see this sadder but wiser version of the eager young man he had greeted at his table what seemed like a lifetime ago. “Nonetheless, you found the best solution, and you executed it efficiently,” he said more sincerely. “Major Kira may come to curse the day you were born before all is said and done. It's a small price to pay for two lives saved, and I've survived her wrath intact thus far.”  
   
“It seems that you two are getting along better these days,” Julian said with a slightly strange note in his voice.  
   
“We are, largely on Ziyal's behalf. I doubt that either of us would choose to socialize together otherwise. I still get the feeling that she would prefer that the girl disliked me or saw me as someone to avoid.”  
   
“What about you?” Julian asked. “Would you prefer that, too?”  
   
“She's delightful company. Of course I wouldn't,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Would you?”  
   
“You...do spend a good deal of time with her,” he said, picking at the remains of his food.  
   
Garak arched an eye ridge, otherwise remaining silent.  
   
“Leeta said it's nothing, but some people...don't agree.”  
   
He leaned back from the table and folded his arms, the other eye ridge joining its twin.  
   
“Forget I said anything. I think I'm done eating. Do you want me to go sleep in my own quarters, or is it all right if I stay here for the night? I seem to have irritated you.” Julian rose from his seat, taking his plate and Garak's for recycling.  
   
“Do as you wish,” Garak said. “Just be aware that this is a postponed conversation, not an ended one.” He felt a small sense of satisfaction when Julian came to kiss him good-night and sequestered himself in the bedroom instead of leaving. It was an improvement over past patterns.  _If we're not careful,_  he thought dryly,  _we just might have to start saying we're in a relationship again.  
   
Julian  
The Infirmary_  
   
Pulling up a stool, Julian sat close to Keiko's bedside, watching her eyelids flutter. She was very close to wakefulness now, and he knew that it was important that he capture her attention right away. She moaned softly and turned her head on her pillow. “Miles?” she said groggily.  
   
“He's close,” Julian said, reaching to take her hand. Her skin was cool and soft. He was glad she wasn't feverish. “I'll let you see him soon, but there's something you and I need to talk about first.”  
   
Her dark eyes tracked slowly to focus on him. She blinked sluggishly. “Julian,” she said, as though confirming to herself his identity. “What is it? What happened?”  
   
“There was an accident on the Volga. Do you remember the asteroid field?” he asked.  
   
She shook her head. “Not really.” Her free hand strayed to her abdomen, and her brows dipped downward. “The baby?” she asked, suddenly looking much more alert. Her hand in his tightened on his fingers in a surprisingly strong grip.  
   
“Is fine,” he said, holding her eye contact. The relief that flooded her features was nearly palpable. “That's something I need you to keep firmly in mind for me. Your baby is safe and healthy, all right?”  
   
“All right,” she said, sounding uncertain. “There's something you're not telling me.”  
   
“You were very badly injured in the accident,” he said. “The baby's life signs became unstable. If I wanted to save him, I had only one option, to transfer him to Major Kira's womb. Luckily, she agreed. She didn't hesitate, Keiko. Without that woman, there is no way I would've been able to save your child.”  
   
She nodded, taking in his words with quiet intensity. “When can I have him back?” she asked.  
   
He glanced away briefly. “That's the thing. You can't, not until he's born, at any rate. It's a peculiarity of the Bajoran reproductive system. If I tried to take him out, even now, it could kill him and Major Kira both.” She turned her face away, but not before he could see her crumpled expression of grief. “Would you like for me to bring Miles in for you?” he asked gently.  
   
Her grip tightened to something painful. “No,” she husked. “Give me a few minutes, please.”  
   
“Of course,” he said. “Take your time.” As she didn't release him, he sat silently at her side. She never made a sound. In some ways, it was much more difficult to see than Miles' open grief in the cargo bay. At least with Miles, he knew that he was a comfort. He sensed that for Keiko he was little more than an afterthought, something her hand clung to independently of her thoughts. He wondered at the forces in her life that shaped her into such a tightly controlled person and wondered if part of Miles' draw for her was his openness and freedom.  
   
She released him to wipe at her eyes and face. “OK,” she said. “I'm ready now. Let him in. Does he know?”  
   
He nodded. “I spoke with him last night after your surgery. He was surprised and worried, of course, but he took it pretty well. I think he's simply relieved not to have lost either of you.”  
   
“He didn't want me to go on that mission,” she said, her voice heavy with bitterness.  
   
“No,” he said, standing and cupping her cheek lightly. “Listen to me. There's no one to blame for this. Just because you were carrying a child didn't mean your life had to be put on hold. You didn't do anything wrong. Blaming yourself is a toxic attitude that will only serve to impede your recovery. I know for a fact Miles doesn't blame you. All right?” She nodded, her look enigmatic. He had no choice but to believe that she accepted what he said. It was obvious she was done speaking of it. “I'm going to go get him now,” he said, leaving her bedside to walk into the waiting room.  
   
Miles stood the moment he saw him. “Can I see her now?” he asked.  
   
“Yes,” he said, stopping him with a hand to his forearm. “Don't say anything about the mission, all right? She blames herself enough as it is.”  
   
“I wouldn't,” he said earnestly. “I just want to see her.”  
   
Julian nodded and let him go. His next stop was Kira's room. She was sitting up and looking impatient to be on her way. She already had a new uniform tunic that flattered the swell of her belly very nicely. Julian had to smile. “You wear it well,” he said, giving a gesture that encompassed her fullness.  
   
“I'm not so sure about that,” she said wryly, “but it is what it is. How's Keiko?”  
   
“I think it's going to be a bit of an adjustment for her,” he said. “She'll also have to deal with the hormonal effects of loss of the baby and placenta. I can give her certain drugs to counteract the effects somewhat, but I won't be able to take care of that altogether. It'll help if she can see you.”  
   
Kira nodded, wide eyed. “Of course!” she said earnestly. “Any time, well...you know, any time I'm not on duty.” She put a hand over her belly. “This little guy is still hers. He's just...boarding with me.” She smiled.  
   
Julian nodded, heartened by her attitude. “I'm really glad to hear you say that. I'm going to be honest with you. There are a lot of things I don't know about this situation. I know how human pregnancies run. I know a lot more about Bajoran pregnancies than I did fresh out of med school. I'm not nearly as knowledgeable about what happens to Bajorans carrying human babies. I've read what I can find on it, but each case was very different.” She nodded, listening closely to him. He knew this couldn't be easy for her, no matter how bright of a face she was trying to put on the situation. “Do you have any questions for me?”  
   
She gave a soft half laugh. “I don't think I know enough yet to know what to ask. I'm sure I will when symptoms start popping up. Already, my lower back is starting to feel strained. I'm pretty sure that's normal, huh?”  
   
“Very normal, yes, and probably more pronounced in you because your body hasn't had the chance to adjust to the changing weight and center of gravity gradually. It happened to you literally overnight. I want you to avoid taking any drugs as much as possible, even for pain. I have no idea how the metabolites in your system might affect the baby. You process chemicals very differently from the way humans do. I'll want to see you for religiously regular check ups. No excuses.”  
   
“I promise,” she said. “I'm going to do everything in my power to deliver this baby safely. It's the biggest responsibility I've ever had in my life. I don't want to screw it up.”  
   
It was very rare that he recalled that Kira was younger than he by a few years. She usually carried herself with such self-assurance and singular purpose that she seemed light years ahead of him in experience. As he looked at her seated on the biobed, so utterly earnest and concerned, it hit him how hard-won most of her maturity was and how little of what others took for granted as normal life she had ever experienced. He felt a tremendous surge of respect and gratitude, respect that she jumped to save a life without a second thought, gratitude that she was so willing to be there for a close friend of his and his wife, people she didn't know nearly as well, people who weren't even of her race.  
   
“What is it?” she asked, tilting her head curiously and half smiling.  
   
“I was just thinking how much I admire you,” he answered honestly.  
   
She blushed and looked away. “I'm not that great,” she said.  
   
“I beg to differ. I also know accepting compliments isn't easy for you, so I'll spare you further discomfort and tell you that unless there's something you're not telling me about how you feel, I'm releasing you for duty.”  
   
“Really?” she asked, looking immensely relieved at the change of subject.  
   
“Really,” he said, smiling and inclining his head. “But I want to see you back in three days for a wellness check. Sooner if there's any problem.”  
   
“You will,” she said. “Schedule me for an early morning appointment if you can. I promise I'll be there.” She hopped off the bed and paused at the door. “You're not half bad yourself, Doctor,” she added with a kind smile. “I think you've surprised a lot of people.” With that she was gone, leaving him to grin with unabashed pleasure at the completely unexpected compliment. Coming from her, it meant a lot.  
   
He didn't like to cut Miles' time short with Keiko, yet she still needed rest. He gently extracted the chief from his visit with the promise that he would call him if there was any change at all in her condition. She seemed to be in better spirits, or she was better at hiding her sadness when her husband's feelings were at stake. Julian couldn't read her well enough to tell. With her his only patient, he was able to catch up on a lot of administrative work that had fallen by the wayside since the Jem'Hadar attack. It felt good to have so many things almost back to normal.

**Part II**

_Garak  
Leeta's Private Quarters_  
   
Unsure of exactly what to expect from the lunch invitation, Garak approached Leeta's door, turning the small, wrapped box in his hand. The bud vase had caught his eye a few days before and made him think of her, its colors mixed pastel greens and pinks. He had no excuse to buy her anything without an invitation and had been pleased to discover it still in its shop window once the occasion arose. She let him in on the first hail. The scent that greeted him was appetizing and familiar. Korfa fish?  
   
“I'm so glad you could make it,” she said, beaming at him warmly and approaching for a hug. She accepted the box graciously and opened it while he watched. “Oh, Garak, it's perfect!” she said. “You really do know my tastes.” She set it on a small table among a few other knick-knacks. It looked as though it had always been there. “So,” she said, turning to favor him with another smile, “I have to admit, I had an ulterior motive in inviting you here to lunch.”  
   
“Really?” he asked. He had suspected as much, wondering if she intended to quiz him about Julian.  
   
“Yes,” she said, pulling out a chair for him at the table. “I've been watching Aroya in her kitchen and helping out when she lets me. I wanted to try a few recipes on my own, and I needed someone with discriminating tastes to test them out on. I hope you're not mad?”  
   
It was all he could do not to laugh aloud. Angry at something like that? She truly didn't know him very well if she thought such a thing. “Not at all, my dear,” he said with one of his warmer smiles. “I'm flattered.”  
   
“Reserve that thought until you've tasted it,” she said, pushing in the chair under him while he took the seat. She uncovered the various dishes on the table. “Korfa fish,” she said of the first. “I marinaded it overnight and seared it to make a crisp crust. Aroya had a surplus of Andorian tuber roots, so I slow roasted them and topped them with a grelf herb crumble. She said it was a bold choice, but she didn't try to talk me out of it, so...” she made a human gesture he had seen from Julian from time to time, crossing her index and middle fingers. “And then I tried to make her wilted greens salad. I already know I got a little heavy handed with the dressing. It's a little oilier than it should be. I tried to cut it with some tartness.”  
   
Garak waited for her to take her seat and began to serve himself. “If it helps, it all smells very good,” he said.  
   
“A far cry from the first time I ever invited you to dinner, isn't it?” she said ruefully. “What a mess. I'm so glad you didn't hold that night against me and decide forever and always that I was a blithering idiot.”  
   
“I came close,” he said lightly, blue eyes twinkling.  
   
“You know, I don't doubt that,” she said with a laugh. “I want you to be totally honest with me about this food. I know that's asking a lot.”  
   
It was his turn for laughter. “And I was just thinking you didn't know me very well. I promise, you'll have my brutal honesty.”  
   
She watched him take his first bite of each dish, biting her lip and holding her breath for most of it. He chewed very thoroughly and closed his eyes. Between each, he cleansed his palate with his favored, astringent red leaf tea. He decided to start with the weakest dish and work his way up to her best. “You already know what went wrong with the salad,” he said, “although the texture of the greens was good. You didn't overheat them.”  
   
“Yes,” she said, “all the more reason I was so irritated when I poured too much of the dressing. They had a good beginning.”  
   
“The grelf overpowered the tubers. They're fairly bland, but they have a pleasant, nutty undertone that the right seasoning brings out. It wasn't unpleasant. I'd say just use less of it next time if you want to go in that direction. I did like how crisp they were at the tops, and I think they worked very well with the fish. I wouldn't change a thing about the fish except to wish that I could eat more of it than I intend to allow myself.”  
   
She beamed broadly. “Thank you for being honest. It really means a lot to me. Also, you should know your efforts are starting to pay off. You look really good. Very trim. I thought so when you came in but got distracted by the pretty present.”  
   
He inclined his head gratefully. “You're most kind to say so. If you continue to use me for your test subject, I fear my progress will be short lived. Why the sudden interest in cooking, if I may ask?”  
   
“It's not really so sudden,” she explained between bites. “It's something that I've wished I could do for a long time. I never had a good teacher. Working at the bar has given me a lot of experience in the hospitality industry, and getting to spend the time with Aroya in her restaurant has made me realize that this is something I truly enjoy. I wouldn't mind owning my own restaurant someday. I've got great mentors, even if Quark hasn't intended to be. Just listening to him and watching him has taught me a lot about the money side of it. I know there are headaches. Then I see how happy Aroya is despite how hard she works, and I know it would be worth it.”  
   
“I'd say you've made a good step in the right direction,” he said pleasantly. “Just a year ago you were burning water, as you say.”  
   
“I've missed you,” she said.  
   
“I didn't contact you because I wasn't certain how seeing me would make you feel after...”  
   
“I know, and I appreciate it. I did need the space,” she said. “You have good instincts. But, that's over now. I want us to start having lunches and dinners again. I want you to kick my butt thoroughly at Kotra, and when Rom and I both have nights off on the same nights, I'd like for the three of us to get together and do something fun. Maybe even invite Odo and Aroya if he'd be willing to come.”  
   
Garak smiled at the thought. “I'd like that very much.”  
   
“Which part of it?” she asked playfully.  
   
“All of the above,” he said. “Speaking of Odo and Aroya, how has that moved on your end of things?”  
   
“Very well,” she said with emphasis. “She is definitely interested in our stern constable. I thought you were going to set up some sort of 'chance' meeting between those two.”  
   
“I am. I've had to wait for things to settle from the explosion and everything else that has been going on. You know Odo. If there's the slightest chance that something could be off, he's not going to relax or be social,” he said. “I'm very glad to hear that she's receptive.” He raised his tea mug to her, and she clacked her mug against it. “You're a worthy co-conspirator,” he told her.  
   
“Why thank you,” she said. “It has been my pleasure.” The door chime interrupted their playful banter. “Enter,” Leeta called out. Garak bit back the impulse to chide her for not finding out who it was first.  
   
The door hissed open to admit Rom, looking somehow odd to Garak out of his maintenance coveralls. He hardly saw him in anything else these days. “Oh, hi Garak,” he said. “I didn't know you were here. Am I interrupting anything?”  
   
“Not at all,” Garak said smoothly. “In fact I was just on my way out.”  
   
“You don't have to rush off,” Leeta said.  
   
“Yeah,” Rom agreed. “Your being here makes this easier. I don't have to find you later and repeat myself.”  
   
Garak didn't bother with a significant look. He was certain Rom either wouldn't read it at all or would read it incorrectly.  _Well, I tried to give him private time with her. I can hardly be blamed if he refuses to take advantage,_  he thought with mild exasperation. “You have news?” he asked mildly.  
   
Rom nodded and came over to the table, taking a seat at the empty chair across from Garak. “Somebody bought all fifty-two shares of Brother for five hundred bars of gold pressed latinum last night,” he said proudly.  
   
Leeta's mouth dropped open. “Five hundred  _bars?_ ” she asked. “Who?”  
   
“That's the weird thing,” Rom said. “It was an anonymous bid. Brother thinks it's the Nagus.”  
   
“You don't sound convinced,” Garak observed.  
   
“I'm not. I don't think he likes Brother much. He just knows he can use him, because his position out here is so isolated from Ferenginar and he wants so badly to be respected in the business community.” He got a slightly panicked look. “Not that I said that to either of you.”  
   
“You know I'd never tell Quark anything you told me,” Leeta said, reaching to squeeze his hand.  
   
“Nor I,” Garak added, keeping his hands to himself.  
   
“Thanks,” he said, his eyes misting over. “I wish I knew what to do. For so long, all I ever wanted was to have Brother out of the way so that I could have the bar. Now that I don't want the bar, I don't have any reason to want him dead.”  
   
“That's so touching,” Garak said a tad dryly.  
   
Leeta shot him a warning glare before turning a softer look to Rom. “I don't think you ever really wanted him dead, did you?”  
   
“Yes, I did,” he said, nodding vigorously. “I even tried to have him killed once. I almost succeeded. I almost wish I had, because we weren't as close then, and I wouldn't have felt this bad about losing him.”  
   
“Look at it this way. He's going to die with family, with someone who loves him at his side. How many of us get to say that?” Garak asked deceptively lightly. After all this time, the loss of his father still hit him at odd moments. He wondered if it always would.  
   
Rom wiped his cheeks with the flats of his palms. “You're right,” he said. “I'll need to be strong, not send him off with the sounds of my crying in his ears. It's just hard. I wish Nog could be here.”  
   
“Have you heard from him lately?” Leeta asked. “Does he know about his uncle?” She took his hand again and gave it another supportive squeeze. Garak hid his satisfaction at the sight.  
   
“He sent me a message while Brother was on Ferenginar. He has some big exams coming up he's worried about. I don't want to distract him with this. There's nothing he can do, anyway. He and Brother aren't exactly close.”  
   
“It may not feel like it, but you're coping well with this,” Garak said, pushing to his feet. He felt that it was high time to leave. For one thing, emotional scenes were hardly his best venues, and for another, he believed that Leeta could do Rom far more good than he could. She was a natural at this sort of thing. “I hate to leave, but I do have to get back to my shop. If you need anything, you know how to find me.”  
   
Rom nodded. “Thanks, Garak. I'll probably stop by the shop either today or tomorrow. I need to have a funeral suit made.”  
   
Garak reached to squeeze his shoulder. Leeta met his gaze over Rom's bent head, her look seeming to say that she'd take care of things from there. He inclined his head slightly, offered her the trace of a smile, and took his leave. He decided he'd stop by Aroya's briefly to try to solidify arrangements for her introduction to Odo. Best to strike while she was malleable. Timing was so important for these sorts of things.  
   
_Julian  
The Infirmary_  
   
Julian keyed the final two entries into the medical database and sat back with a tremendous sigh of satisfaction. He was caught up with everything that had fallen behind and could finally focus on current deadlines. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Maybe he could finally focus on scheduling the trip to Risa Leeta had mentioned. A little of his good mood slipped away at the thought. It wasn't that he didn't believe that ultimately things had worked out for the best—Leeta wanted more than he had to give at this time in his life—he just wished that it hadn't happened so painfully for either of them.  
   
“Doctor,” Nurse Frendel said, sticking his head around the office door jamb, “before you leave, you have a subspace transmission coming in from Ferenginar. Would you like to take it back here?”  
   
“Ferenginar?” he asked, puzzled and intrigued both. “Yes, Frendel, put it through. Thank you.”  
   
A wizened Ferengi countenance peered at him from his screen with beady eyes nearly buried in wrinkled folds. “You Doctor Bashir?” he asked suspiciously.  
   
“That's right,” Julian said, nodding, “and you are?”  
   
“Doctor Orpax,” the Ferengi said with obvious pride. He seemed to expect Julian to recognize the name and scowled when he realized that he didn't. “I have a message for Quark. You know him, right?”  
   
“Yes,” Julian said, “I know Quark.” He didn't add that over half the time he wished that he didn't.  
   
“Good,” the doctor said. “Tell him...” He pursed his lips and made an expression of distaste, adding in a great rush, “Tell him I'm very sorry, but he doesn't have Dorek Syndrome.”  
   
“Dorek Syndrome?” he asked. “What's that?”  
   
“Never mind that. Will you tell him, or not?” the old Ferengi snapped.  
   
“I'll tell him,” he said. Before he could say another word, the doctor ended the transmission. “Well, that was interesting,” he murmured. As he intended to stop by the bar anyway after work, it wasn't an inconvenience to deliver the message right away. He signed out for the night and headed over to the bar to do just that.  
   
The result was even more intriguing than the message had been. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen Quark so excited about anything. He was somewhat irritated when he realized that the bar owner thought he had a fatal disorder and hadn't bothered to come see him for confirmation. He decided against saying that “hew-mon” doctors, as Quark put it, would be more familiar with Ferengi physiology if they weren't so mistrustful and actually bothered to come in to get physicals now and again. It wouldn't make a difference and would just give Quark an excuse to get sarcastic. He ordered a drink from one of the waiters and took it to an empty table so that he could unwind from his day.  
   
“Chief!” he called out to Miles when he saw him approaching the bar. The man waved to acknowledge him, hurriedly placed his drink order, and then came to join him. “How's Keiko doing?” he asked.  
   
“Better,” Miles said. “She's still sore and not movin' around on her own much. I stopped by several times during th' day to check on her, and I'll be headin' home as soon as I finish this ale. She insisted I get out for a few. Y' know how she is.”  
   
“I do,” Julian said, nodding and smiling. “As stubborn as a certain head engineer I know, only in a different way.”  
   
“More stubborn,” he said humorously. The humor faded. He rolled his ale glass from side to side in his hands. Julian could tell he was working up to saying something and knew better than to interrupt the process. “I've been thinkin',” he said slowly, glancing over at Julian and back to his ale. “Not havin' th' baby...inside her...has Keiko tied in all kinds o' knots. Now, I know what y' told me about hormones and all that, but...do y' think it might help her t' have Major Kira around more often?”  
   
Julian thought about it for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “Of course it would. Being able to see that he's all right, being able to feel when he kicks or moves. Kira told me she'd make herself available to Keiko any time she wanted when she was off duty. Has she not been?”  
   
“Oh, no, it's nothin' like that. Kira has been great. Keiko said she stopped by an' saw her twice today already. I'm thinkin'...I'm thinkin' of something more,” he said with another furtive glance. “I'm thinkin' of inviting her to come live with us during th' pregnancy. What do you think?”  
   
Julian blinked, his mouth falling open in mild shock. “That's a pretty drastic step. Are you sure it's what you want to do? Have you talked to Keiko about this?”  
   
“Not yet. I don't think she'd object, though. Y' haven't seen her. Molly is tryin' her best t' make her feel better, but this has taken so much out of her, literally. I have t' admit, it would give me some peace of mind, too.”  
   
“I suppose it can't hurt to ask,” he said slowly, still boggled internally by what Miles had said. He didn't think things would go very smoothly, particularly if Miles tried to dictate what Kira did. “Just don't pressure her. This situation is difficult for her, too, even if she doesn't show it. If she doesn't want to move, it's not reasonable to expect it of her, all right?”  
   
Miles drained the rest of his glass in a swallow. “Y' know me better than that,” he said.  
   
Julian gave him a flat, level look.  
   
“All right, all right!” Miles said. “No pressure. I swear it. I'd better go. I want t' run this by Keiko an' see if we can't get this settled tonight one way or th' other.” He stood. “I'll let y' know how it goes.”  
   
Julian nodded and hid his smile behind a swallow of ale. “You'd better,” he said to his retreating back. Once he was gone, he shook his head, doubting seriously that Miles had any idea what he was about to get himself into, particularly if Kira said yes.  
   
_Garak  
Garak's Clothiers_  
   
As Garak turned to walk toward his stock room with Quark, he could feel Rom's eyes on his back, his dismay and accusation a palpable touch. He felt dubious, to say the least, about Quark's proposal, yet in the interest of fairness...oh, who was he kidding? The simple fact was that he found the entire situation patently ridiculous, and he enjoyed the idea of having the chance to make Quark squirm. He tuned back in to what Quark was saying. “Nothing painful! Or slow. There's nothing in the contract that says I have to suffer.” The Ferengi paused and eyed him fearfully. “You won't make me suffer, will you, Garak?”  
   
Garak offered him a subtly layered smile, one that on the surface was meant to look as though he intended it to be reassuring, when in actuality he intended anything but. “It's the furthest thing from my mind,” he said pleasantly. He paused at a rustling sound coming from his changing room. He had all but forgotten Morn in the sudden excitement.  
   
“Garak!” Quark said sharply, “I mean it. Are you even listening to me? This is serious!”  
   
Garak widened his eyes. “Believe me, there's nothing I take more seriously, but I do also have a legitimate business to run, and,” he dropped his voice, “one of the most notorious gossips on the station sequestered in one of my changing rooms. Do you want one of the Starfleeters hearing about our little...arrangement? Even I would find it difficult to carry out my task from within a holding cell.”  
   
Quark waved him away impatiently and made a poor showing of looking through the sales rack at the back of the shop while Garak finished up his transaction with Morn. Fortunately, the Lurian seemed more interested in getting out of there with his new pants than in bending Garak's ear about one of his countless siblings or his latest mishap in love. Rom was nowhere to be seen. Garak wondered if he should let him in on the fact that he had no serious intentions to kill his brother and quickly decided against it. Rom would never be able to keep it to himself.  
   
Once Morn was gone, Garak closed up shop so that he and Quark could continue their conversation uninterrupted. “If you're serious about this,” Garak said, taking up a PADD and typing an outrageously high figure into the interface, “I'll want half up front, non-refundable.”  
   
Quark took the PADD, his eyes bulging. “You're insane,” he said. “I'll give you half that.”  
   
“That's what I just said,” Garak said placidly, “up front. The rest can be set aside in a trust to be transferred to my account upon your death.”  
   
Quark sputtered. “This is extortion!”  
   
“Well,” he said, “I'm sure you can find someone else to carry out your plan. You deal with all sorts, after all, transients who have no need to worry about their reputation, who can leave without repercussions, and who will be taking far less of a risk than you're asking of me.” He could tell that Quark was considering it. “By the same token,” he added, “those same...associates...have no real incentive to do the job cleanly. After all, once you're dead, what are you going to do? Sue them for breach of contract?”  
   
To his surprise, Quark gave his thumb print with little more than an under the breath grumble. He kept both his surprise and satisfaction to himself. It wasn't that he was greedy or even particularly hurting for money. It was the fact that it was Quark he was dealing with, a man who repeatedly got away with things that would land Garak in a holding cell in a heartbeat, simply because Starfleet and the Bajorans found him useful. He would never say it aloud to anyone, but at times he resented the bar owner for that. “So,” Quark said, giving him back the PADD, “what do you have in mind? For how to kill me, I mean? At that price, I had better love it.”  
   
“I'm afraid death by Oomax is out,” Garak said lightly. “You don't have enough in your accounts for that.” Quark's disgusted expression filled him with secret glee. Yes, this was going to be supremely entertaining. “I think it would be much easier for me to show you than to tell you.”  
   
Quark backed up quickly, banging the back of his head against the wall. “Not so fast!” he squeaked. “I want to talk about it first!”  
   
Garak offered another pseudo-reassuring smile. “You misunderstand. Why don't you meet me in one of your holosuites in say...two hours?”  
   
“What for?” the Ferengi asked suspiciously.  
   
“A holographic demonstration. It will be much clearer for you if you can see the method rather than have me describe it to you. It will also help...acclimate you to the idea of your impending demise,” he said helpfully.  
   
Quark looked dubious. “All right,” he said finally. “Holosuite three. No killing! Not until we decide on the method. Besides, I need a little time to set up the transfer for the remainder of the balance for after my death, and I'll need your thumb print.”  
   
“I think you'll be very pleased,” Garak said with confidence. He held his chuckle until after Quark left his shop. Once he was gone, he had the computer lock the door once more. Holo-programming took time and concentration. Fortunately, the computer had all of the data it needed for the parameters. He just needed to invent the scenarios. He hummed under his breath while he worked and ignored the persistent chime of his door. He knew it was Rom. He couldn't afford to be reassuring. Besides, if Quark couldn't come up with an alternative way to deal with the liquidator, he decided that he would be the one to do it. Every time that toad showed up, it meant pain and sorrow for his friends and disruptions on the Promenade. It would never do to allow Rom to get mixed up in that business. He read Garak just well enough that he would almost surely know he was up to no good.  
   
About fifteen minutes before he was due to meet Quark, he left his shop. Rom ambushed him before he could get the door locked behind him. “Garak, you can't do this,” he said harshly, grabbing him by the arm.  
   
Garak shook him off and turned gimlet blue eyes upon him. “I can, and I am. This is between me and Quark. Stay out of it.”  
   
Undeterred, Rom fell into step beside him. “If you keep trying to go through with this...I'll tell Captain Sisko!”  
   
Garak stopped walking and turned on him so swiftly he took three steps back. “Listen to me,” he said intensely. “This liquidator is serious. He doesn't care how he gets what he paid for, but he means to have it.” He glanced around to be certain no one was close enough to overhear them. “Now, do you want your brother handled by someone who actually has his comfort in mind, or do you want Brunt hiring some more Nausicaans or someone worse? Think about it!”  
   
“But...” Rom said, clearly wracking his brain for a logical retort.  
   
“But what? Quark is a businessman. Nothing is more important to him, not you, not Nog, not anyone. You say you love him? Then let him handle his affairs as he sees fit. Don't interfere. Not only will he not thank you for it, you will just get him killed in a far worse way.” He didn't enjoy what he was saying, but he knew that if he couldn't get Rom to back off quickly, the man could get in the way of his real plan and get himself hurt, even killed.  
   
“I...I thought I knew you,” Rom said, backing up further, “but I don't. I don't know you at all. I'll tell you this. If you kill Brother, I promise you'll regret it.” He turned quickly and stalked away.  
   
Garak watched him warily. As fond as he was of Rom, he knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill him in self-defense. He dearly hoped the Ferengi held off of doing anything stupid. His dislike of Brunt dug in deeper. The station was a small one, his circle of friends smaller. Anything and anyone who managed to cause that degree of disruption on a regular basis had to go. He strolled into Quark's and up to the holosuite as though he hadn't a care in the world. When he activated the program, he worked out much of his frustration at the situation on the holographic Quark. It felt good. It felt better than good. For a brief time, it felt almost like the old days, and it stirred his blood like little else had since before he arrived on this forsaken hunk of junk in space.

**Part III**

_Julian  
Private Quarters_  
   
Julian stirred slightly and kicked his feet, trying to stave off a tickling sensation that seemed determined to drag him out of sleep. It did no good. Mumbling under his breath, he reached for his blanket to tuck it under his chin. It evaded his grasp. He awoke on a sharp gasp to darkness. “Computer, lights,” he said. The system didn't respond. “Who's there? Garak, is that you?”  
   
Silence greeted his question, and he felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle. The changeling threat was so much in the forefront of everyone's mind these days. Who knew how they managed their infiltration techniques? He fumbled on his night stand for his comm badge. It was gone! Before he could get his drawer open to reach for his phaser, something or someone slammed it shut again. In a flash, he found himself bent back uncomfortably and spun over his bed sideways with a forearm at his throat and a rough hand thrusting beneath the elastic band of his pajama bottoms. Slightly rough skinned fingers massaged and stroked his flaccid cock demandingly, possessively.  
   
“Garak,” he breathed. It had to be. He didn't think that a changeling that intended to replace him would bother molesting him first, not with the way they seemed to view solids. With his mind shifted to less sinister scenarios, he realized that his nose could have told him what he wanted to know. The scent of Cardassian arousal was sharp in the air. He felt his body begin to respond. “You could have gotten yourself shot,” he admonished halfheartedly. He meant for the rebuke to come out more forcefully.  
   
“You'd need your phaser for that,” came Garak's taunting voice.  
   
He felt something cold and hard tap him at the side of the jaw, the forearm at his throat shifting only slightly to allow it. He knew without having to ask what it was. “I hope you deactivated that before deciding to hit me with it,” he said, fighting a writhe. The tailor's hand was devastating his concentration.  
   
“I thought you liked danger,” Garak purred.  
   
He groaned softly, as much for the tone of voice as for the particularly wicked twist of the man's grip. “Something has you in a mood,” he managed.  
   
The Cardassian's only answer was to shove him back further so that his head was forced back at a sharp angle and tilted upside down. He spread his legs to ease the pressure on his lower back and felt Garak's weight settle partially atop him between them. Garak pulled his hand out of his waistband and ground against him, the thicker trouser fabric gliding easily over the silky pajamas.  _Seriously in a mood,_  Julian thought dizzily, lifting his legs to wrap them at Garak's waist. The sensation of blood rushing to his head warred with the pulsing of his cock. He had to focus to get enough air, and he was almost sure that Garak intended just that. Quick, deft fingers unbuttoned his pajama top. He felt the rasp of a flattened tongue over his left nipple and juddered involuntarily, his fingers tightening at Garak's shoulders.  
   
He wanted more than this sinuous dry humping and contact through clothing; however, he knew that with Garak in such a mood, any request for more would be met with the frustration of just more of the same, probably for longer than the tailor originally intended. There was also the uncomfortable sensation of that phaser now resting alongside his jaw. It wasn't that he believed Garak would shoot him, either accidentally or on purpose. It was that his training kept him acutely aware of the weapon and made it impossible for him to relax fully into the pleasure, yet another thing he believed deliberate on his lover's part.  
   
He tried to shift himself so that the cusps of his shoulder blades weren't digging into the unpadded side of the bed. Garak immediately stopped his suckling, tongue flicking torture of his nipple and pressed his free hand firmly over his sternum, hard enough to increase the discomfort to pain. He relented the moment Julian stopped squirming. “Damn you,” Julian panted, dropping his head fully back once more. He was starting to feel dizzier. He could feel Garak's smile against his chest just a second before his teeth on his already sensitized nipple sent pleasure burrowing straight to the center of his groin. He hated the sound he made. It broadcast neediness and want loud and clear.  
   
Garak pulled up and back with his hips, sharply enough to break Julian's leg clasp at his waist. He slid lower over the doctor's body. Julian gasped loudly and took in several gulps of unrestricted air the moment he felt his throat free of the forearm pressure. Before he could sit up or make himself more comfortable, he felt Garak's tilted fist at the dead center of his chest. He didn't have to see to know the phaser was pointed where his head would be, if he dared to lift it. Did he dare? Was he so certain Garak wouldn't stun him? He let out a soft sound that was half laughter, half pure frustration. The truth was he truly didn't know, and he wasn't interested in finding out, particularly when he had lips and a tongue doing such amazing things to the stretched taut skin of his belly.  
   
He had a hard time deciding where to put his hands, settling on twisting them in the fitted sheet. It gave him a tiny bit of leverage, just enough that his mid-back wasn't taking all of the strain of the unnatural position. Garak raked his teeth just above his waistband. He hissed and tensed, the bite more suggestive of pain than actually painful. He expected him to pull the pajamas down, but he didn't. He mouthed right over them. Soon the fabric clung wetly to every curve of his cock, a protective barrier against the rougher ravishing of Garak's teeth, something he couldn't have stood on bare flesh but that was exquisite through the silk. Blood pounded in his ears, his face as swollen from passion as position. He wondered if he would pass out when he came.  
   
His lover wasn't yet intent on letting him find out. He seemed to sense the growing tension in Julian and pulled back with a final, light rake of teeth over the smooth curve of head. Julian lay still across the bed with his toes barely brushing the floor. He still couldn't see a thing, and not even his sensitive hearing could pick Garak's tread out of the background rumble of the station.  _Where are you?_  he thought, straining in vain to sight a shadow or catch a rustle. He imagined he could still feel that phaser pointed at him.  
   
His lover's scent closed on him, and he inhaled deeply. He felt heat on his face and then wetness on his exposed throat, a viscous drop that rolled languidly toward the underside of his jaw. Licking his lips, he felt his breath come faster, wanting nothing more than to reach back and pull Garak to him, knowing the Cardassian wouldn't allow it. He felt exposed and wondered what sort of picture he presented to the tailor's eyes. Could he see color in the starlight? Would he know that he was flushed from chest to the roots of his hair? Could he see the race of his pulse and the pound of it at his temples and forehead?  _What are you waiting for?_  
   
He knew. On some level, he knew that he was testing him, waiting to see if he'd be foolish enough to press his own case, possibly even hoping he'd give him an excuse to stun him. This mood was subtly different from most of Garak's attempts to dominate him. He couldn't say how he knew it, but he did. Although Garak hadn't been as rough with him as he could get at times, there was some taint of underlying menace. It lay coiled in the tension of his body. Julian believed that even without the phaser, he'd know this was different. He gave him no reason to unleash it despite being half maddened with interrupted desire.  
   
He moaned and felt his eyes roll back when the thick weight of his lover's obscenely wet cock slapped against the side of his cheek and rode over his parted lips. The man teased him with it, forced him to strain and twist himself almost too far back. He teetered on the sharp edge of the bed, wondering if he was about to take a plunge feet over head. The fitted sheet let loose at one corner of the thin mattress with an ominous pop, and he listed to his right. Garak relented, pushing inward insistently past his parted lips, gliding easily into the depths of his throat. It may have been an awkward angle for his head, but it was a perfect angle for this. He was ready for it, had been dying for it, his mouth hungry and drawing noisily. The muzzle of his phaser tickled the hollow of his throat, raising his skin to goose flesh.  
   
Adjusting himself to Garak's punishing rhythm, he worked out the timing of his inhales to quick, shallow gasps on each draw back of hips. Of course, Garak found a way to throw him off, plunging deep and holding until he felt his eyes begin to water and his chest begin to tighten. He gasped loudly as soon as he was able and eventually stopped trying to anticipate, almost regretting letting Garak know how much breath games shattered everything but a semblance of his composure and made him so hard it literally hurt. He seemed to take perverse delight in finding what Julian believed to be his limits and pushing just a little further.  
   
Garak flicked casually at his nipples with the thumb of his free hand. He felt like a marionette, jerking helplessly with each scrape of nail and wave of pleasure. His own cock leaped and bounced against his belly, struggling against its wet silk shroud. It was just enough to torment him, not enough for any sort of satisfaction. He bit back a groan.  _How long are you going to torture me?_  
   
He didn't get an answer to the unspoken question until well after his jaw was aching, and his back was rubbed tender and raw where it scraped the bed. He felt the tell-tale swell of cock in his mouth and prepared for a flood that didn't come. Garak pulled away suddenly, throwing him into a confusion of hands tugging him and turning him, his spinning and pounding head getting sudden relief as he was pulled upright across the bed, and his pajama bottoms being yanked off unceremoniously. Bent forward over the bed instead of back, he felt slick fingers preparing him perfunctorily and then the pleasure/pain of being penetrated too quickly. Garak's hand reaching around him, tight, wet, and rough, made him forget all about any discomfort. He came hard embarrassingly fast and felt himself filled before he was fully spent. Only then did he hear the clack of his phaser being set decisively on his night stand.  
   
Garak's clothed chest pressed to his back. So he had only undressed himself as far as needed, Julian realized. He felt the man's firm lips brush lightly over the knob of spine at the base of his neck. Cold air hit the sweat drying on his back as the Cardassian pulled away. Now he could hear him in the darkness, pulling up his trousers. “Elim?” he asked, thrown into sudden uncertainty. He expected the tailor to spend the rest of the night with him, what little must have been left of it.  
   
Garak's sigh came heavy in the darkness. “Indulge me, my dear,” he said, sounding drained. “I'll be wretched company if you persuade me to stay.”  
   
He mulled this, lifting himself the rest of the way onto the bed and lying carefully on his side. “Is...something wrong?”  
   
“No,” came the reply. “I was just...reminded of something tonight. I suppose I needed to get it out of my system.”  
   
He smiled faintly and relaxed. He had learned that if Garak had a personal problem with him, he rarely skipped the chance to air it when confronted with the opportunity. “Did you?” he asked.  
   
He felt lips brush his temple and the warm press of a hand over the curve of his shoulder. “Mostly.” The soft reply cooled the wet curls of hair at his forehead.  
   
He chuffed a low laugh, hardly believing his own audacity—or was it stupidity—when he said, “Well, if you find it's still a problem later, you know how to crack my door code, but next time, bring your own phaser.” He was gratified when Garak snorted a dry, amused chuckle. He never laughed that way if something was truly wrong. “See you at lunch?”  
   
“Yes,” he said, the weight on his hand increasing briefly against Julian's shoulder as he leveraged himself fully upright and released him.  
   
Try as he might, he couldn't hear him departing. He heard nothing more until his door hissed open and shut.  _One of these days, I'm going to figure out how you do that, and when I do, I'm going to give you the shock of your life,_  he thought, amused in his exhaustion.  
   
_Garak  
The Promenade_  
   
It had been such a simple thing to plant the almost microscopic tracer on his target, Flaxian technology, not Cardassian, a clumsy bump in the habitat ring with a sincere sounding but not obsequious apology. He doubted Brunt even remembered the encounter or would pay particular attention if he saw Garak again. He was that sort of man, self-important and self-absorbed enough only to note and mark that which he felt had the power to affect him, either positively or negatively. What was a simple Cardassian businessman too distracted to pay attention to where he was going to a Ferengi liquidator?  
   
Brunt had been in the bar for hours now, likely doing his best to intimidate the unfortunate owner. Garak idly wondered if the obviously wealthy agent of commerce had set the entire thing up. He had taken the liberty of doing a little checking in the afterglow of his unannounced visit to the doctor the night before. Orpax wasn't the sort of doctor who routinely made mistakes, particularly ones that could cost him as much as a malpractice suit for an erroneous fatal diagnosis. He could have dug deeper, taken a look at financial records and transactions corresponding with the dates just before and during Quark's trip home, except that the circumstances of how the situation came to be didn't matter as much as the particulars of what was happening now. He was aware he had a tail. Rom hadn't been far away since their confrontation the day before, even when he should have been working. For a people with such acute hearing, he wondered how it was that Rom could make so much noise when trying to be stealthy. It was possible he wanted Garak to know he was there but unlikely.  
   
Garak sank deeper into shadow. Something was happening in the bar. He heard raised voices. To his surprise, a mass exodus followed.  _He broke the contract,_  he realized.  _I don't believe it._  He expected Quark to come up with a clever way to deal with the contract, not to bankrupt himself. It was worse than that. Now there was no way he could target Brunt, not without getting Quark implicated in the death. Of course, the moment Quark was implicated, he knew that the little weasel would turn eyes his way. With that much attention on the liquidator, it would only be a short matter of time before everything came to light.  
   
Annoyed, he stepped out of his observation spot, looking for all the world as though he had simply been taking a stroll, and began to walk toward the turbolift. He had no desire to stay behind and watch his former target empty the bar and gloat. He felt deeply disappointed in Quark. He expected more from him. Rom jumped onto the turbolift behind him just as he turned to face outward.  
   
“I suppose you have no reason to kill Brother now,” he said, his words clipped and angry. Garak didn't reply, simply lacing his hands loosely in front of him and waiting for his stop. “If it's about money, tell me what he owed you. It may take me a while to pay it off, but I will.”  
   
Garak cut his eyes sideways in irritation. “That's what you think it was about? Money? You were never righter when you said you don't know me,” he said tightly.  
   
Rom studied him closely for the remainder of the ride and stepped off with him on his H-ring. “I know you don't like Brother. None of the Cardassians ever did, but to agree to kill him?” He shook his head. “It doesn't make sense. You've worked too hard to stay here, not to call attention to yourself, except when you blew up your shop, but that was different.”  
   
Garak stopped walking. “If you have a point to make, I suggest you make it. I'm not in the mood for this right now.”  
   
Rom licked his lips, looking less certain of himself. “You...weren't after Brother,” he said quietly.  
   
“Don't be ridiculous. A contract...”  
   
“Is a contract, is a contract, yes,” Rom said, “but only among Ferengi. You know that, which also means you wouldn't feel bound by whatever you signed with Brother. I was here for a while before the occupation ended. I know a little about Cardassians, too. A...a little about you.”  
   
“Then you know I'm not a sentimental man,” Garak said dangerously.  
   
Rom nodded. “I know, which makes me appreciate what you were going to do all the more. If you had told me, I could've made sure Brother didn't cave to Brunt before you had the chance to make your move,” he said with a touch of accusation in his voice.  
   
Garak frowned sharply. “How about we don't have this conversation in the corridor?” he asked pointedly, guiding Rom by the arm with a firm hand the rest of the way to his quarters and pulling him inside after him. He let him go when the door closed and turned on him. “If you hadn't been so quick to assume I was going to kill Quark, I might have told you,” Garak retorted. “As it stood, I couldn't risk saying anything to you for fear you'd react emotionally, or worse tell Quark, who might have been foolish enough to warn the liquidator.”  
   
Rom sighed unhappily. “It doesn't matter now. Brother is ruined, and Brunt is going to be on his ship headed back to Ferenginar first thing in the morning, most likely. For what it's worth, I'm sorry I doubted you.”  
   
“Don't be,” Garak said harshly. “If you know Cardassians, if you know me, then you ought to know...”  
   
“I do know,” Rom cut him off. “But this time, I was wrong.”  
   
Garak inclined his head, uncomfortable with the conversation and wanting it to come to an end. “You should go to him. I imagine he could use a friendly face right now.”  
   
He nodded. “Actually, I need to go talk to Chief O'Brien first. I...wasn't exactly authorized to take the time off to keep an eye on you. If I'm lucky, he'll let me make it up a little tonight. Besides, Brother wouldn't want me there to see them cleaning the place out. It would humiliate him too much.”  
   
“As much as he has humiliated you...” Garak couldn't stop himself from saying.  
   
Again, Rom cut him off. “I don't expect you to understand it. Sometimes I'm not even sure I understand it. I love my brother. I don't enjoy seeing him brought down, not when it's not his fault. He may have done a lot of questionable things over the years, but he didn't deserve this, not any of it, and I'm going to do whatever I need to do to make sure he gets through it.”  
   
_He doesn't deserve you, either,_  Garak thought. He knew there was no use arguing, nor was it his place. He was surprised he had said as much as he had. “I'm sure you will,” he said instead. “Now, if you don't mind, I've had a rather dull, unproductive day. I'm ready to unwind, and it's impossible for me to do that properly with uninvited house guests.” Rom smiled oddly as he turned toward the door. “Did I say something amusing?” Garak asked, one brow ridge lifting.  
   
The door hissed open, and the Ferengi paused on the threshold. “No, but...you're only rude to people you like. With everybody else, you're overly polite.” He left before Garak could think of a sufficient retort.  
   
_He knows me better than I thought,_  he realized. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. In his current state of mind, he thought it best to drop the subject altogether and take a long, hot bath.  
   
_Julian  
Ward Room_  
   
Looking around at the puzzled faces of the senior staff, Julian didn't feel quite so bad about being clueless as to why they had been summoned so suddenly and so late in the evening. Not even Dax, who usually had her finger on the pulse of various happenings around the station, seemed to have any idea why they were there. He took a seat next to her and mostly succeeded in not wincing when he sat back too quickly against his chair back.  
   
Captain Sisko strode in shortly later, putting an instant stop to Kira's and Miles' subdued murmuring to one another. “People,” he said without preamble, “it has come to my attention that we are facing a crisis.”  
   
“Is there an impending attack?” Worf asked, sitting up straighter, if that was possible.  
   
“No,” Sisko said. “Make no mistake, what I am talking about could still have devastating consequences if we don't jump on this and get a handle on the problem. The FCA just closed Quark's Bar, seized all of his assets, and forbade Quark from doing further commerce with other Ferengi. I don't need to tell you what effect this is going to have on morale on this station. The question is what are we going to do about it?”  
   
“They're taking everything?” Dax asked. At Sisko's grim nod, she said, “Well, we could provide him with new things. There's a lot of spare furniture sitting around the station. It may not be as attractive as what he had, but who's going to complain about that in the face of the alternative?”  
   
“I have a case of brandy I just bought,” Julian said. “I know it's not much. I imagine if we ask around, I'm not the only one with a little liquor to spare.”  
   
“Quark won't accept it,” Odo spoke up. “He's too proud for that. He'll look on this as charity.”  
   
“Then we're just going to have to make sure that it doesn't come across that way,” Sisko said with a determined smile. “Get moving, people. We need to canvass the station for furniture, supplies, alcohol, and condiments, not to mention volunteers. The longer this situation drags, the bigger chance we have that people are going to start leaving this station in droves.”  
   
Julian smiled despite himself. Quark wasn't his favorite person, true. It didn't mean he deserved to have everything taken from him, and the captain was right. The bar was important to station morale, to his own morale. He stood at the same time Dax did. She turned to him with a mischievous grin. “I just bought the most hideous glasses as a practical joke for my sister. I can't wait to see Quark's expression when he sees them!”  
   
He wondered how the liquidator would feel had he stayed behind just a little longer to see the ant nest he had stirred. He doubted he would even understand the impulse behind it. He rather hoped that at some point he returned, only to find Quark not only afloat but prospering. It reminded him of childhood scavenger hunts. The excitement built as civilians chipped in, people emerging from their quarters to offer an oddly shaped vase, more pickle forks than any one individual had any business possessing, large jars of candied fruits, salted tidbits, and more strange odds and ends than Julian had ever seen. The bar wouldn't be the same place it had been. It promised to be much more interesting, at least to look at.  
   
Within less than three hours, they had what they needed. It was time for the show to start. Captain Sisko approached Julian and said low enough that no one else could overhear, “Doctor, you do the honors. You've had a rough few months. You deserve a little fun.” He raised his voice and turned to look at Dax. “Wait a few minutes, and follow him in, Old Man. The rest of you, look sharp, and remember, this isn't charity.”  
   
Fighting the beaming grin that kept trying to erupt, Julian squared his shoulders and hefted his case of brandy. He strode confidently through the double doors. He had his lie ready on his lips and no intention of backing down from it. When he saw Rom seated on the steps with Quark, he felt even better. Maybe this would be the start of better relations with Garak's friend.  
   
_Garak  
Private Quarters_  
   
Bathed, sated from dinner, and comfortable in his robe on his sofa, Garak frowned slightly when his wall comm chirped. Who was calling him at such a late hour? He doubted it was Julian. These days he was much more likely just to come by if he wanted something. He didn't want to deal with Rom again that night. Reluctantly, he set aside his PADD and rose, circling behind the sofa and completing the connection. He saw quarters that looked like Major Kira's with no one standing in the frame. “Hello?” he called.  
   
He thought he heard Ziyal's voice coming through the speaker faintly, as though she was a large distance from the console or perhaps turned away. She seemed to be talking to someone else. He couldn't quite make out the words. “Ziyal?” he called more loudly. “Ziyal, are you aware you activated a comm link?” He wondered if she had done so by accident. It wasn't likely, but it was possible to do if one had a number programmed in automatically.  
   
He saw her pass quickly in front of the camera, her long, black hair down and in some disarray, her hands moving choppily, fingers spread and tense. “Ziyal!” he said. “Where is Major Kira?”  
   
“Who said that?” her voice came from just off screen, odd and thrumming with fear.  
   
“Damn it,” Garak murmured under his breath, cutting the transmission and hurrying to his bedroom to strip from his robe and pajamas and pull some clothes on. He didn't bother fully fastening the tunic until he was out in the corridor and on his way to Major Kira's. He covered the distance at a swift jog, keeping the phaser in his hand close to his thigh in case he ran across anyone on the way. When he reached her door, he rang the hail, neither expecting nor receiving an answer. Tucking his phaser into his belt, he quickly cracked the entrance code and re-palmed his weapon before the door could finish opening. He rolled in low and leaped back to his feet.  
   
Ziyal was huddled against the far wall to the right of the bedroom door, her knees to her chest beneath her long white nightgown. She didn't seem to see him, her wide eyes upturned as though someone stood in front of her. Just to be sure, Garak hurriedly swept the bedroom and refresher. Satisfied that they were alone, he set the phaser on Kira's dresser and slowly emerged from the bedroom. “Ziyal,” he said gently, “you called me. Do you remember?”  
   
She glanced away from her fixed point and toward him, a look of confusion passing over her features. “Garak?” she asked. “I...” She whirled her head back to the front. “I said no! Don't touch me!”  
   
_The waking dream,_  he thought,  _or nightmare, rather._  “Dearheart,” he said soothingly, “you need to listen to me. You're having a waking dream. You came to me about this before. We talked about it. Have you been doing the exercises I gave you?”  
   
She turned her head toward him again, blinking rapidly. She glanced back to the spot before her, back to him, and sagged at the shoulders. “I...” She took a deep breath. “I called you. The exercises help a little. It's like drowning, though. I break the surface, and I go under again. I'm so sorry for calling you.” She wiped her cheeks with her palms. “Nerys...left earlier tonight. I told her I'd be fine.” Her lips twisted in her effort not to cry. “How pathetic is this? I suppose it's a good thing I haven't sold many paintings yet. I wouldn't be able to stay alone in any quarters I rented.”  
   
“Alone?” He frowned and approached her, squatting to her side so as not to crowd her or intimidate her in case she had lingering anxiety from her hallucination. “What do you mean alone? Where has Major Kira gone?”  
   
She looked down at her sock clad toes peeking from beneath her nightgown hem. “She's going to be living with Chief O'Brien and his family until the baby is born. She said I could stay here and keep some life in the place while she was gone. I didn't want her to go. I knew it would be selfish to say anything, though. It was obvious she was having enough trouble with the idea without my making it harder by being a baby about it.”  
   
_She expects to be an afterthought,_  he realized.  _Why shouldn't she? What experience has she had in her short life to tell her any differently?_  He went down to his knees from his squat and edged closer, reaching for her. She stiffened in surprise before curling into his embrace as trustingly as a small child. “You can call me any time you need to,” he said, pressing her head to his chest. It was so strange, this impulse toward protectiveness. Was it because of everyone he had met in his life she was the first person he had ever found that was a true twin to him in isolation, or was it because somehow being there for her in her need made all the times no one had been there for him more bearable?  
   
“But...” she started a weak protest.  
   
“I know what I said before. Major Kira wasn't pregnant then.” Silence descended on them for a time. He felt her pulse at her temple slow beneath his fingertips. “I'm going to give you some new exercises to try. I'm afraid your brain is just too developed already for the others to work properly.”  
   
She chuffed a small laugh. “That's the first time I've ever heard that brain development could be a bad thing.”  
   
He smiled, amused despite the situation. “It's not a bad thing, just bad timing. Would you like for me to stay here tonight? I'll be perfectly fine on the couch when you're ready to go to sleep.”  
   
She hesitated and nodded against his chest. “I...could show you some of my work.”  
   
His smile deepened. “What? You've finally decided I'm worthy of seeing it?”  
   
She slapped his arm lightly and pulled back with a rueful smile. “You know that's not it! I've been...self-conscious. Your opinion matters to me, and you're not somebody who'll tell me I'm good if I'm really not, not like Nerys or Father.”  
   
“Well, let's see then,” he said, climbing to his feet and pulling her up by the hands.  
   
She guided him to the sofa and gestured for him to sit. “Stay there. I've got most of it stored in the closet so Nerys wouldn't feel like I was crowding her out of her own quarters. I've got paintings and sketches. Are you sure you want to do this? You're probably tired.”  
   
“I may be older than you, young lady, but I don't have one foot in the grave yet. I can stay up past my bedtime occasionally without ill effect,” he said, lightly teasing her.  
   
She grinned and flitted into the bedroom. He didn't know what he had been expecting to see. It wasn't what she brought. Her paintings were mostly abstracts, strange, uncomfortable juxtapositions, hybrids. Her use of color was subtle and restrained, mature well beyond her years. He realized with no small sense of irony that were she not what she was, she could have easily achieved success either on Cardassia or Bajor, and yet, were she not what she was, her art wouldn't be what it was, a true expression of her condition. The undisguised yearning in it broke his heart a little; her anxious expression as she awaited his judgment broke it a little more. He was very glad not to have to find fault or lie, and that in and of itself was a novel thing. “You're an artist,” he said after she brought the last. There were about a dozen in all. “I would be proud to have any one of these on my wall.”  
   
“I've seen your collection,” she said, eyes wide. “Don't patronize me, Garak. Please. I know I have a lot of work to do before I'm anywhere near great. Father used some of his money and influence on Cardassia to get me a gallery showing. Hardly anybody came, and most of those who did said...unkind things.”  
   
“Unkind things are not always honest things, and honesty isn't always unkind,” he said. He could see she was on the verge of tears again. “Please, believe me.”  
   
“I do,” she said, and he realized she wasn't sad after all. “Which one do you want?”  
   
“You pick one for me,” he said. “I trust your judgment.”  
   
She bit her lower lip and turned to look at all the canvases arrayed against the wall and a side table. “This one,” she said, lifting a rather large one, an ellipse in dusk blue and moody grays and blacks with a small reddish sphere off center and one thin, vivid slash of yellow rising toward the upper right like a swift bird in flight. It struck him as a sweetly hopeful gesture anchored in sober reality. “Unless you want another?”  
   
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “It's perfect. Now, come show me these sketches of yours, and then let's try to get a little sleep, shall we?”  
   
_The Promenade_  
   
Garak passed completely by Quark's before realizing that it wasn't the empty husk he expected to see, and the doors were open despite the early hour. He stopped in his tracks and doubled back, looking inside. The place was fully furnished. Some of the furnishings were mismatched. Some of the glasses on the back shelf were unbelievably tasteless. Quark had his back to the entrance, arranging a few things behind the bar.  
   
Garak felt a sudden, unreasonable frisson of anger. It was clear what had happened. The station residents had chipped in during the night to keep the bar afloat, to come to Quark's rescue. No one, not even Julian, had tried to tell him about it or get his help. The fact that he was unlikely to give it was beside the point.  
   
No one had lifted a finger to help him when he blew up his shop. Most people had been kept unaware of the circumstances, believing it an accident or assassination attempt. It wasn't even that he had wanted or expected help at the time. He didn't know what it was, other than he was furious. He slipped into the dim interior and began his stalk toward the bar.  _We have some unfinished business, after all,_  he thought coldly. He took care to avoid throwing reflections in the bar mirror and waited for Quark to head into his back office to follow, unseen and unheard. Quark gave a satisfying squawk when Garak grabbed him from behind, an arm at his throat. “Surprise,” Garak whispered at his ear.  
   
“Garak! Garak, it's off! It's off; do you hear me? I broke the contract! I broke it; oh, please, don't kill me. I'm not surprised! I know it's coming! That was the agreement; you'd surprise me!” The words tumbled from him in a high pitched rush. “I don't want to hear my vertebrae snapping! It's the most awful sound. You have no idea. No idea, please!”  
   
He released him with a wave of contempt, his hand feeling soiled where it had cupped the slightly greasy orange neck. “You and I had an agreement, too,” he said, his blue eyes hard and icy. “No cancellation clause.”  
   
Quark swallowed audibly and rubbed at his throat. Garak realized he was wearing an outfit he had made for Rom a few years before. It didn't quite fit the Ferengi properly. “I don't have any money right now,” he said. “I...I can make some in time. Even if you were to kill me right now, you wouldn't get anything. All of the furniture in here belongs to Starfleet. They're renting storage space for it from me. That's all!”  
   
Garak advanced on him, forcing him to retreat. “I know you're not that stupid,” he hissed. “Do you really think I am?”  
   
“I'll get your money to you,” Quark panted. “I swear! It's just going to take a little time. I'll pay you off before I do anybody else. What do you want from me? It's the best I can do!”  
   
“I expect interest at the same rate you'd charge for such a favor,” he told him. “You're not the only businessman on this station, Quark, and I take my business very, very seriously. Do we understand one another?”  
   
Quark nodded, clearly frightened. “Perfectly,” he said. “Can I...get you a drink? On the house.”  
   
“I don't drink this early,” he said, turning on his heel. The anger left him as quickly as it had seized him. He frowned to himself as he walked out and headed toward his shop. Why should he care if anyone had helped Quark? Why should it matter that no one bothered to ask him a question that he would've answered in the negative?  _It shouldn't,_  he thought,  _but it does._  He knew he wouldn't be able to put the issue to rest until he could figure out why, and he sensed that knowledge might be some time in coming.

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during “Body Parts” and was posted first on May 24, 2010 on LiveJournal.


End file.
